


Choke

by trustxlovexhope



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Halsey, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, The Academy Is..., Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Brothel AU, F/F, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Omegaverse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Punk, Revolution, Sex Worker, Smut, brothel, futuristic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustxlovexhope/pseuds/trustxlovexhope
Summary: Patrick has worked at the brothel for years, being abused past what he can handle and taking everything he can't every day of his life. That's when Pete shows up and shows him a world he never thought he'd have.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

Patrick's eyes shut against the pale ceiling miles above him, blocking out all the light from his vision and replacing it with darkness. Something to get rid of reality, something to make him forget if even for a moment. His fingers are gripping the bedsheets deep and harsh and the man above him is grunting out obscenities as the bed shakes under them. He has dark brown hair and baby blue eyes, much too innocent to be anywhere near here, but Patrick knows damn well that even the nicest looking men and women can be the worst of them. They can be the most sadistic and Noah? He doesn't give two fucks if his workers die, as long as he gets his goddamn money. So the sadists can do as they please, they could leave him there, dickless and out of a business, screaming, just so they can get off. Of course, they'd probably have to pay much more than they bargained for but that's just the business. That's just what Noah's agreed to.

  


"Kid, open your eyes," The man growls above him, stopping his thrusting for a moment to glare right at Patrick who only leans away slightly, intimidated with his eyes open, "Talk to me, tell me how big my cock is or somethin'. You gotta pretty voice."

  


Patrick takes a breath, moving his hands to above his head where the other immediately pins them down uncomfortably and pounds right back into his loose entrance. He's gone all day like this, his heart racing and his mind too broken to really function right. That's how it always is, he gets a break exactly one day a week but he can't leave the brothel, can't escape, not even for a trip to the market. After all, he might get kidnapped. Noah would be pissed, he wouldn't even get any money out of it.

  


"You're cock's so big, Sir, so thick inside me," He tries to make it sound pleasured, like he's actually enjoying this shit but there's no way in hell he ever would. He's disgusted with himself and the man pounding into him. Patrick thinks his name's Josh but he's not sure, he never really gets his clients' names. They're always gone far too fast and don't come back for long periods of time, “I-I’m so tight around you, oh fuck, I wanna cum.”

  


Josh slaps him, hard, then shoves his hand around the other’s neck, glaring at the blond with a dark look that sends chills up Patrick’s spine, “You sound like you actually fucking enjoy it when you choke, Whore.”

  


Patrick can’t say a thing, his hands clawing at Josh’s furiously but the other doesn’t let up, not yet. He feels dark around the edges of his eyes and his lungs scream for air as his throat closes in on itself and Joe starts thrusting erratically into his tight entrance, grunting out as he finally cums hard, his cock swelling inside him. Patrick whines when the blue-eyed man lets go of his throat and watches him gasp for air.

  


“That’s how desperate you should be for my cock next time,” Josh growls, “Make sure you don’t fucking forget it, next time I ask you to beg you better fucking beg.”

  


His cock throbs a few times inside of Patrick before the swelling finally goes down and he pulls out, stripping off his condom and yanking his boxers up from the dirty floor. Patrick’s still gasping, still taking breaths to calm himself as the man finally leaves and slams the door shut, leaving the omega to himself and sending chills up Patrick’s spine.

  


He’s used to being treated like this, used to being treated like nothing more than a sex toy. That’s all he is, that’s all he’ll ever be. Even when he was still young, he knew that. He’s been a sex toy all his life, been nothing but an object for the others’ pleasure. For the alphas and the betas who have enough money to use his ass. He’s used to it and Noah makes him take at least 10 a day. $50 per person, at least $500 a day. If he doesn’t make that much, then he’s beaten. If he refuses to take that much, he’s tortured until he finally submits. He hates how Noah treats him but he knows he can’t escape. Workers who escape get caught. They always do, and they’re never heard from again.

  


Patrick doesn’t know what happens to them, the other omegas at the brothel tell rumors that they’re chained outside the brothel and starved to death. Others say they’re sold off to the doms down in West Lake. Patrick’s never questioned it. He’s too afraid to run. Too afraid to see what happens no matter how much he may want to leave.

  


“Ten minute break,” Will calls from outside the door. He’s sort of the co-owner of this place, he manages the omegas, makes sure they’re clean, makes sure they don’t take breaks when they aren’t supposed to, and tells Noah when any of them misbehave. Noah’s an alpha, Will’s a beta, and by tradition, Noah’s extremely possessive of what’s his. Any of the clients that even come close to touching Will end up dead or worse.

  


Either way, Patrick sits up from the bed, slowly pressing his boxers back on and wiping the sweat from his face before he leaves his room, a bottle of water in hand. Gabe is right outside his door, stuffing his face with the little food Noah gave him this morning and at the same time trying to share with Mikey who’s only staring at the wall and refusing and a soft shake of his head. Patrick tries not to let it bother him too much, they’ve lived here for years. They don’t count anymore. Even Hayley’s lost her hope and she seemed so happy when she first arrived. Afraid, yes, but she didn’t let it get to her.

  


They’re all omegas, though. All omegas get into the sex worker system at one point or another. As soon as they are, their reputation is tarnished for the rest of their lives and they can’t escape. This happened for Patrick. For Gabe and Mikey and Hayley. It happened for all of them.

  


“Patrick!”

  


His eyes flinch up to see Noah there, a solid, irritated glare in his eyes. Patrick immediately backs down. He has enough scars from the beatings they put on him constantly, he doesn’t need any more. Not if he wants to get clients.

  


“Yes, Sir?”

  


“Joe said you were doing shitty today, what happened?” The brothel owner demands.

  


“I don’t know, Sir, he said I wasn’t good at begging, Sir. I’ll try to improve next time.”

  


Noah stares at him for a long moment before grabbing his wrist and pulling him along through the hall, shaking his head and tugging him along to one of the last rooms before spitting out his gum and shoving Patrick into the room before following him in and turning on the light.

  


“Get on your goddamn knees,” He mumbles, tugging off his belt and slamming door shut while Patrick hesitantly complies, falling to his knees for the other man and feeling the cold leather against his bare back, “Keep your goddamn mouth shut. If you can’t beg for a client, then you can’t beg for relief, is that fucking understood?”

  


“Yes, Sir,” Patrick breathes, and just like that he shuts his eyes and braces himself, swallowing back his pride and his fear.

  


“You’re nothing but a pathetic whore, Patrick,” Noah mumbles, “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  


Patrick clenches his teeth as the man snaps the belt against his skin, sending it to turn a bright red and a long streak to stay behind. The brunette never gives mercy. It doesn’t matter how much anyone begs, Noah likes to hurt people, Will knows this damn well and gives him as many people to hurt as he can. It’s kind of sad in a way how poisonous Noah and Will’s relationship is but how they both benefit somehow. Patrick’s seen it too much in the past, Noah still hasn’t seen enough.

  


A few more strikes come down, Patrick’s fingernails are digging into the palms of his hands but his eyes remain focused on the wall in front of him. One, two, three, four... five, six...

  


Patrick cries out harshly when Noah finds an especially tender place and falls forward in pain but it’s not long before the other is wrapping the belt tight against Patrick’s neck and keeping it there without a sign of mercy. Leaning down with the leather in a tight hold. The blond shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth as he tries to breathe through the belt.

  


“N-Noah,” Patrick chokes through the belt clawing at it desperately, “S-stop!”

  


“Shut up,” Noah mumbles, finally letting go of the belt and watching it go limp at his side. A red mark stays imprinted on Patrick’s neck, though, a tint of purple marked at the edges. Patrick’s still gasping for breath, tears at his eyes and down his cheeks. His hands wrap around the marking as he heaves and Noah pulls away, pressing his belt back around his waist.

  


“Your next client’s gonna be here soon, and I don’t fucking want you to fuck it up this time, understood? If I have to talk to you again, I will give them a free for all on you, you fucking whore.”

  


Patrick looks away, visibly shaking as tears roll down the hills of his cheeks to his chin and he pulls himself away from the ground, stumbling to head back to his room, hunched over and walking right past Noah. He’s shaking hard, he feels disgusting and he needs a shower, he needs to scrub the filth from his skin because too many people have touched him today, too many hands have clawed into neck and wrists and thighs and he feels so... so gross. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He just... He just needs some sort of relief. He hasn’t had a day off in a long, long time.

  


He just needs a break from all this shit but he knows he won’t get one for at least another few months. They very rarely get breaks besides to rest or sometimes eat. He would think Noah and Will would want to keep them healthy but apparently the clients around here are desperate and will take anything. So less work and more money for the bosses, more work and less rest for the prostitutes. He hates it, but he doesn’t have any other way of staying alive. He knows that if he doesn’t accept his clients, he could be killed.

  


Then again, it’s not like there’s all that much to live for anymore...

  


Patrick takes a breath, shutting the door to his room and taking a seat on his bed and shutting his eyes. He’s tired, he’s had a long day and he just... He just wants to sleep, dammit. He wants to forget about the world for a while. It seems to be the only way he gets a break from life, from the hell he’s been shoved into. He just... He just wants some freedom. Is that too much to ask? For relief from his goddamn place.

  


He's just about to drift into sleep when he hears the door open and someone comes in, wasting no time in pinning him down on the bed and connecting their lips harshly.

  


Maybe he just doesn’t deserve a break.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IMPORTANT. I reposted the last chapter so that it's my original writing of Choke and I changed some worldbuilding things to fit. I felt like the original wasn't what I was looking for in this. If you're too lazy to read the other one, the only changes are that Patrick is treated worse and instead lives at the brothel itself. Omegas aren't really qualified as people anymore, more just slaves. So yeah.

Patrick’s fingers tap against his wrist, a gentle rhythm against the harsh waves of silence that echoes through the room, just a small cut amongst a river of gore. He’s trying to distract himself from the screaming in his mind and trying to pull himself away from the fact that the silence is always accompanied. It’s a harsh G flat of a piano and an E minor chord of a guitar. Patrick never learned guitar, doesn’t know piano, but he’s remembered just enough of what he learned in his childhood to know some music. He misses his guitar, he remembers he used to have one in this god forsaken place years ago, but they smashed it when he refused to take customers one day. He was exhausted, and he was hungry and thirsty. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

  


Maybe he’s just thinking too much, though.

  


He cannot sleep, and it happens a lot. He’s tired, so very tired. He took 30 today. 30 people in the last 24 hours. He’s too tired, too exhausted to take anything more, but at least Will was kind of happy with him. He got some extra table scraps. More than Gabe and Mikey, at least. That’s reassuring for the most part. He won’t get beaten for at least a little while and he’s back on Noah’s good side.

  


He turns in bed, staring at the wall instead of the ceiling and watching the moon peer in through the barred window, just a sliver of light in the small, cold, dark room. He’s used to it being this way, though. With nothing but a thin blanket to cover his body and nothing but a pair of boxers to cover his body. He’s heard of omegas dying in the winter due to hypothermia. It’s a dangerous world out there. Patrick knows it well, he lives it daily. But for some reason, he just can’t give up the hope that maybe someday he could leave and see it all. Maybe they’d let him free. Maybe…

  


His thoughts always run wild at times like these, when nothing is there to accompany him besides his soft breaths and his pulse against the pillow, drumming away at a soft, steady pattern. Ffft, ffft, ffft, ffft... One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. Patrick takes a breath, shutting his eyes as he listens to that rhythm like the beating of a drum. He’s never heard much music in his life besides the street performers that sometimes come around outside their place but there isn’t usually much of them anymore. Patrick isn’t sure why. Then again, he isn’t sure about a lot of things out there. The last time he was outside must have been years ago. They never let the omegas out of the brothel. Ever. They’re too afraid they’ll run away or something.

  


Deep breaths. In, out.

  


Patrick sinks further into the pillows, immersing himself in the bed and yawning long and slow into the midnight air.

  


In... Out.

  


In... Out…

  


In…

  


***

  


“Wake up you fucking slut!” Will snarls from outside the door, a muffled sound against the noises of groans in the adjacent rooms, “You have a client. Behave like a good fucking whore, understood?”

  


Patrick snaps away from his sleep, his heart already racing in his chest as he looks to the door to see Will step away and another man come in. Dark eyes and short black hair, a bandana sits snugly across his lips and nose, but Patrick knows enough just from his eyes and the shape of his body that he’s new here. Or new to Patrick, at least. The blond watches as the door shuts and winces away as he anticipates the man to come forward and just shove him down like they always do. To just pin him down and fuck him like a toy.

  


He waits gritting his teeth and looking away but for some reason... For some reason when he looks up, the man is only pulling off his bandana and setting down his bag. He doesn’t even look like he wants Patrick, at least not in the way that everyone else does. His moves are smooth and efficient, flowing and gentle and wary, almost as if he knows how afraid Patrick is. Almost as if he’s been in Patrick’s place before.

  


He looks back with a soft smile as he finishes off with his jacket, setting it down messily on top of his backpack and bandana just before sitting down right there on the hardwood floor. He’s gazing up at Patrick with big, whiskey eyes and tanned skin. He’s got tattoos all up his arms but no piercings. Patrick vaguely recognizes a movie character on one arm but can’t place the other. He doubts it matters, soon enough those hands will be wrapped around his throat.

  


“Sir?” Patrick manages, wincing away from his voice not long after. It’s been a couple days since he last used his voice, he’s not used to letting his vocal strings ring, the only time he really does is when Josh enters. He hates Josh. He really fucking does, and he knows he shouldn’t say it, but it’s true. He hates the way he looks at him like he’s a piece of meat or an object. He hates the way he treats him like some sort of object for his sexual pleasure. It makes Patrick terribly uncomfortable, makes him wish he were dead, honestly.

  


But this man here doesn’t show a sign of that. He’s calm, and he’s patient. He’s watching Patrick thoughtfully with warm eyes and what looks to be a soft heart but Patrick doesn’t know that. He can’t just guess that either. He guessed Josh would be okay. He guessed Adam would be okay. He guessed Chris would be okay. None of them were ever okay. None of them ever treated him like anything more than a toy, a pile of shit to disrespect and use and fuck. He’s tired. He’s so very tired of the perverts who show up and the homophobes who just tell him to “hurry the fuck up,” because he’s nothing more than a “faggot.” He’s heard that word too many times and he... if he’s honest he barely even knows what it means. But he does know that those men get disgusted with him, he’s just not sure why.

  


“Hi there,” The man replies to Patrick’s greeting. The prostitute flinches at the hazel eyed man’s words and leans back, eyes wide and fingers bunching up the fabric. This man hasn’t even touched him, which must be a first in a long while. The men and women who come almost always just go ahead and pin him down and fuck him dry. Why hasn’t this man touched him? Why is he any different? Why...?

  


Patrick bites his lip as he stares down at the man, leaning back a little, “S-Sir? Um... Would you like me to undress?”

  


“No, you can leave your clothes on.”

  


Patrick blinks as he takes those words in and lets them soak. This man is seriously freaking Patrick out. If he doesn’t want to just fuck Patrick, then why is he here, and why doesn’t he want Patrick to just take his clothes off? What’s going on?

  


“W-Why are you here, then, Sir?” Patrick replies, gritting his teeth slightly as he leans back, intimidated.

  


“Please,” The man replies, smiling softly, “Call me Sandman, and you are?”

  


“U-Uh...” Patrick looks away, blushing, “I-I’m Patrick... But you can call me whatever you want...”

  


Sandman stands up and Patrick watches him carefully as he looks around the room. Up at the light, then at the window, and finally down to the small shelf on the wall that holds nothing but a small wire and a camera.

  


“They don’t even try to hide it, do they?” Sandman mumbles to himself as he grabs a pair of scissors from his pocket and cuts the cord, then turns the camera to the wall and looks back at Patrick. He looks ten times more terrified than before. Why would he have to do that? The owners will be pissed, they’ll beat Patrick and ask him why he didn’t try to stop Sandman. They’ll probably chain him outside, let people have a free for all on him until he’s too sore to talk. He won’t have anything and –

  


“Patrick, hey.” He’s snapped out of his thoughts as Sandman sits back down on the floor and smiles gently up at him. “I need to talk to you about this place.”

  


“What do you mean?” Patrick whispers, “W-What do you want f-from me?”

  


“I don’t want anything from you. I’m not here to hurt you, I promise. I’m here to help. I want to help you get out of this place, would you come?” Sandman asks gently.

  


Patrick stares, almost in shock as Sandman stares up at him, completely serious. This has to be a joke. Noah and Will... Noah and Will probably sent him in to set Patrick off and make him want to do it and if he says yes then he’ll be beaten and probably given more customers than he can handle, but if Sandman... If Sandman really is serious and Patrick says no…

  


“Why?” Replies Patrick with a shaky undertone.

  


“Because what they’re doing to you here, it’s horrible. It isn’t right. People shouldn’t have to go through what you’re going through, it’s cruel and abusive and inhumane, okay? And there’s a lot of stuff going on in the world and if you want to leave, now is the time. I know you don’t know me and... everything they did fucked you up, but you gotta believe me.” Sandman looks away for a moment, calming his rant before returning his gaze to the blond. “So are you in, or not?”

  


Patrick stares for a long moment, jaw clenched, and fingers fisted. He finally just pulls his knees to his chest and takes a breath, though. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants. He just... He just wants to know the truth from the lies. He just wants to know if Sandman is being completely honest. He just needs to know that maybe he’s not being lied to for once in his life, and maybe there are good people out there. Maybe he shouldn’t care this much but... But honestly, sometimes he can’t help it. He’s paranoid and terrified and everyone he’s ever trusted has put him through hell, has shown him everything he just wants to go away. He’s so tired of trying to figure it out for himself. How much more pain does he have to go through before it’ll get better, huh?

  


“Patrick, would it be better if I came back another day? If you need some time to just think this over, you know I can give that to you,” Sandman replies, “But my friends and I are leaving in exactly three weeks to get away, okay? And after that we’ll be gone. If you’re coming, I need to know by then.”

  


Patrick stares at him for a long moment. Leaving? Why are they leaving? Who are his friends? Why will they be gone? What’s going on? Who is Sandman? What’s his real name? All these questions are coming and going too fast and his mind is rocketing and it’s just too much and he just. He just needs a break. He just –

  


“Patrick,” Sandman says gently. He’s standing now, and Patrick only shuffles back farther on the bed with wide, teary eyes and a terrified expression, “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Just take deep breaths. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

  


“Who do you work for?” Patrick asks, pulling himself away further from Sandman, “Why are you doing this?”

  


Sandman takes a breath just before pulling away with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Patrick wants to know so bad why the hell this man is here, but he doubts he’ll even get close to figuring it out. He knows that if Will and Noah sent him, he’d never give himself away, never just tell Patrick who he really came for.

  


“I don’t work for anyone, Patrick. I work for myself and my team.” Sandman heads back for the door. “I’ll be back, you probably need some time alone, anyway.”

  


Patrick watches as he leaves, shutting the door not long after and leaving the blond all alone to his own thoughts.

  


What the hell just happened? Why didn’t he just pin him down and fuck him? Is it something wrong with Patrick? And what was he talking about? His team? Running away? And why in the hell would he come to brothel in the first place? And talk to Patrick of all people?

  


He bites down on his fingernails as he looks away from the door and thinks. He hates not knowing and he wonders what it’s like out there in the city. Because there’s been a world right outside his window. Always just out of reach.

  


Patrick shuts his eyes, pulling his knees back to his chest and taking deep breaths like he had just a little while earlier when he had tried to pull himself back into sleep, trying desperately to just take himself from the world. Because it’s the only way he’s learned that gives him a break. It’s the only way he’s learned to forget about the hands that grip his hips and the bruises left across his neck. It’s the only way he’s learned to get the taste of “Sir” and that salty musk off his lips. The only way he can just forget for a while where he can just relax.

  


He hears a soft knock at his door and he knows who it is before he even has to see.

  


“Come in!” He calls, and not long after, the man is entering with his large, dark hands and those sharp brown eyes on a pierced face. He’s attractive, Patrick will admit that, and he’s one of his gentler clients. He likes Trevor’s presence, it’s almost comforting in a way. He’s much lighter than someone like, say, Josh but he’s still got his rules. He has to get off, and Patrick has to refer to him as Daddy. But that’s kind of it. If Patrick wasn’t so repulsed by sex, he’s sure he’d enjoy it. But he’s had too much in the past few years. He’s tired.

  


“Hey there, Baby Boy,” Trevor says gently, smiling as he shuts the door behind himself and heads toward the bed, wasting no time in shedding his shirt and kissing up Patrick’s chest, “Your day been okay?”

  


“It’s been okay, Daddy,” Patrick replies with a fake smile and his normal, innocent face, “I really wanna suck your cock, though...”

  


“You missed me?” Trevor asks, smiling down at the prostitute fondly as he leans down and kisses him. The height difference between them is a whole foot so both have to work to connect their lips. Trevor groans against the other’s lips, shutting his eyes and finally just pinning the other down, making sure his wrists stay tight against the mattress. Patrick fakes a groan, buckling up against Trevor’s bulge and whimpering against the dark lips.

  


“C’mon, Baby Boy, can you suck my cock like a good little slut?” Trevor breathes, pulling up and unzipping his jeans before pulling them down his waist. Patrick whimpers the slightest as he watches it hang there, heavy and long and thick. He hates this. 

  


“Anything for you, Daddy,” Patrick lies.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re a good whore, you know that?” She whispers, “I’ll tell Will how well you did after this, yeah?”

  


“Thank you, Ma’am,” Patrick replies. 

  


“You did good,” She continues, untying the restraints with a numb hand before tugging the rope and the dildo back into her bag.

  


Patrick massages his wrists, sitting up and bowing his head with a small, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  


She hums in reply, turning away from the whore before slinging the bag over her shoulder and leaving, keeping sure to lock the door once she’s out.

  


Patrick sighs, rubbing his ass in pain as he sits back and internally wondering how much that’ll hurt tomorrow. She was rough, more than most of his clients are. She’s always rough, though, and worse yet, she’s the first of many today. He has no idea how many customers he has, but he knows it’s gotta be more than ten. It’s never less than ten. Ever.

  


“Hello?”

  


Patrick jumps, gasping as his eyes head back to the door, but he finds himself relaxing when it’s Sandman there. Nobody else. He’s wearing a bandana across his mouth and nose like last time and a leather jacket covers his shoulders as he comes in. Patrick’s thoughts on Sandman have changed since last he came, about a week ago. He knows that Sandman might be his only chance, but at the same time, he’s still terrified it’s William and Noah’s doing. They’ve probably set Sandman up to this, told him to test Patrick.

  


“G-Good morning,” Patrick says, pulling the blankets up and over his exposed lower half with wide, afraid eyes.

  


“How’s work going?” Sandman asks in a gentle voice, taking a seat on the floor to give Patrick some space.

  


“Uh, it’s okay,” Patrick clears his throat as he looks away at where the camera and microphone still lay unfixed. Will beat him hard for that and he’s sure he broke a rib. Patrick was terrified, but he dealt with it, his rib doesn’t hurt as much as it did.

  


“Have you thought about my offer?” The man replies, “We’ve only got two weeks left before we’re leaving.”

  


“Some,” The blond replies, laying back a little and trying to take in Pete’s scent. Beta. It’s true, he did think about his offer. Too much to be healthy. He’s anxious. What if it is a text? That could mean hell for him for months. He would be accused of being disloyal to his owners. He would be a traitor at best. That means more pain, more beatings. At the same time, this could be his way out. This could mean freedom for him. The closest city to Iasban is Sprague, five-hundred miles out. They wouldn’t let him out of the city if he begged. And also, what if this /group/ that Pete’s been talking about is actually just a coverup for something worse? More owners, more beatings, more fear. What if it’s just false hope and nothing else? What if it’s a trick, a try to get Patrick’s trust and then abandon him, use him. First, though, is Noah. He can’t let Noah think he’s a traitor, and so he asks Sandman, “Do you work for Noah?”

  


“No, I don’t,” He says.

  


“Are you sure?”

  


“Absolutely.”

  


Patrick swallows deep, and an awkward silence rings out through the room. Eventually, he clears his throat and says to Sandman, “You can sit up here if you’d like. It’s probably more comfortable than the floor.”

  


“Really?”

  


“Uh-huh.”

  


Patrick hears Sandman stand from the floor, then come to the bed, sure to keep a distance between them so he doesn’t scare Patrick, but from here, Patrick gets more of a scent from him. He smells calmness, a gentle demeanor but somewhere deep down there’s something more. Fear, anxiety, terror. That unsettles Patrick the slightest. Especially more so when he smells the dominance on him. He’s a beta, and Patrick’s never in his life had a good encounter with one. He’s never had a good encounter with anyone who isn’t an omega.

  


“Who’s on your team? Or whoever you were talking about? Why are you running away?” Patrick asks.

  


“I can’t tell you now. There’s too much of a risk. If the… if they hear, they’ll kill me. Us.”

  


“Who’s they? Noah and Will?” Patrick asks with a concerned look.

  


“No, Patrick, someone much worse,” Sandman replies, “I don’t want to scare you, or intimidate you, or freak you out, but I promise if you come with us, we’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

  


Patrick swallows, looking the darker haired man dead in the eye for some sort of reason not to trust him. All he sees is the calmness and he, himself, begins to relax a little.

  


“Where are you going?” Patrick asks.

  


“We’ll head West, that’s all I can say,” Sandman says. Toward Sprague. “Somewhere far away from here where we plan to isolate ourselves until everything dies down.”

  


“Oh,” Patrick looks away, clearing his throat as he takes that in. He’s never been outside of Iasban. He’s lived here ever since he was born and has worked for as long as he can remember. He never leaves this building, he doesn’t know where in Iasban they reside. All he knows is that when he looks out the barred window, he sees nothing but the moon and the sky, and the treetops miles away. He hasn’t seen anything outside of this place in years and years. He misses it dearly. He really fucking does.

  


“Do you want more time to think?” Sandman asks, hesitantly reaching forward and brushing the tips of his fingers over Patrick’s hand. It brings a shock of uneasiness through Patrick’s body and he warily looks back at Sandman with a small expression.

  


He doesn’t know. He wants so dearly to leave this place, he wants so bad to run away and never look back. He wants to leave the greasy, cum and blood stained walls and the cold nights on bumpy mattresses. He wants to go somewhere that he doesn’t have responsibilities and he can be treated better. He doesn’t know much about the world, but he’s dying to learn.

  


At the same time, though, he finds a dark doubt crawling through his mind and a feeling of emptiness clawing at his heart. What if Sandman really isn’t running away? What if he just wants to steal Patrick away, pull him into just another brothel? What if he really is working with Noah and Will? What if he just wants to hurt Patrick more?

  


Patrick is conflicted, tired, and terrified. He wants to know the truth and he’s dying to just take the chance. But he’s taken chances too many times and each and every time he was beaten, hurt, raped. He needs to take the risk, but what if it’s really not worth in the end? What if it just makes it worse?

  


“I… I can come back tomorrow, Patrick,” Sandman says, “I promise I can. Do you trust me?”

  


“I don’t…” Patrick swallows, “I don’t know.”

  


Sandman gazes across at him with a sad smile, then looks away and shakes his head with a sigh.

  


“I’ll be back tomorrow, but I need your final answer by then, okay? We leave soon after.”

  


“O-Okay,” Patrick whispers as Sandman stands up.

  


“Do you want me to stay so you can get some rest, or are you okay?”

  


“I-I’m okay,” Patrick replies, turning to the mysterious man with lowered eyes.

  


Sandman grins, “Tomorrow.”

  


“Tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update!!

Wednesday and Thursday seem to drag on as Patrck keeps his eyes open for Sandman. He's been wary of everything lately, of everyone he passes on the streets, of the clients that come in to fuck him until he's numb and crying. It's been on his mind all day and all night. He goes to bed and is unable to completely fall asleep until he thinks it through at least twenty times. Is he really going to turn his life out like this? Take the risk and understand the consequences? Then there's the anxiety that comes with it, what if Sandman is actually working for Noah to make sure his workers aren't planning on leaving. That's one of the biggest things of being an omega sex worker. You always pledge your loyalty to your work, even if it’s cruel. This is a risk he wants to take even though he knows that it could ruin his entire life and career. He has to try something, he can't just act like things are fine now, because they're not. He has suicidal thoughts at least twice a day (even if he can’t act on them), he can't handle the beatings, the extreme amounts of work he's put through on a daily basis. He can't handle the thought that he'll have to work like this until he's old and unattractive and then he's fucked. There is no support for omegas. Nothing by omegas for omegas, nobody cares about them. They're the weakest in society because they're not strong. 

Patrick, especially, isn't strong. Why couldn't he be born beta or alpha? Why does it have to turn out like this? He hates it, he hates how fucking unfair it is, and he hates that he can't even consider leaving without getting insane amounts of anxiety about the whole thing. He knows it's a stupid idea, he can't fend for himself, and Sandman is planning on leaving the city? There is no place to stay in the desert, there are no homes for omegas. He knows out there, people get murdered like it's nothing. The government doesn't control it, there is no order. It's just you, yourself, and whoever you think you can trust. Iasban is the only place that will make sure you won't die immediately after arriving. The closest city from here is five-hundred miles out. Patrick thinks its crazy, thinks that it's going to fail, but he also knows that if Sandman is telling the truth and isn't just part of Noah's honesty check for his workers, it could go right. This could be his way out of a life he can't stand anymore. This is freedom at his fingertips. He can't just let that go.

Patrick considers it throughout the entirety of Tuesday night, Wednesday, and Thursday. He's biting his nails through Friday, too. Final fears reaching his mind. His first client comes, uses his throat for about fifteen minutes, and then leaves. The second follows, and then a third. Patrick is out of it he can barely concentrate on anything, especially not satisfying his customers. He's slapped out of thoughts by his third customer, and his spaciness comes to an end when he's on his knees in front of some girl he's seen maybe once before in here. She looks pissed, "I said look at me, whore."

Patrick meets her eyes, blond hair falling into his face. She grits her teeth, and tugs him up by his hair, he cries out, "Bend over the fucking bed."

He stands and bends, head in his hands as he spaces out again. As much as he's conflicted about the idea, he's grateful it gives him something to distract from the discomfort of this all. He hates being here. He really does.

The woman leaves five minutes later, and he cleans himself up, shaking as he pulls on his underwear. He’s a broken spirit, he’s surprised he hasn’t just given up on Sandman’s dream yet. He’s afraid that maybe he won’t come. He’s been through three people today, maybe he won’t show up and maybe it was just a silly dream. That’s not what he wants to believe, but he knows that it’s probably the truth.

He’s wiping away his tears, having his doubts when the door opens. He expects another client or Noah or Will, but when he looks up, he realizes it’s Sandman and he freezes up. He’s got his back on his back, his bandana on tight, and he looks like he’s ready to go.

“Are you coming?” He asks. Patrick realizes, as he sees him, his spirit, his energy, and the smell of excitement, of adrenaline lifts through the air, that it’s worth it. He can’t just stay here. There’s a chance they may actually make it, and he knows that it could be worth it. It’s the adrenaline and the hope that this could mean something. That they could get out of here, and actually make a difference.

Patrick nods, unable to completely form a sentence. He’s just staring at Sandman in shock, speechless. Sandman chuckles and says to him, “Get dressed, we’re leaving /now/.”

Sandman watches Patrick shed his cardigan and replace it with a shirt, jacket, and pants. He pulls up a radio from the collar of his shirt and says, “Patrick is ready, are we okay to leave in ten?”

“Correct, we’re moving out in ten.” Another voice follows. Sandman pulls a gun from his bag and Patrick immediately flinches back, the thought that he’ll get shot crossing his mind.

“Jesus Christ,” He starts, but Sandman presses a finger to his lips, pulling Patrick up to stand. Patrick swallows, watching Sandman open the door and lower his gun. He looks left, then right, nods his head, and then moves to the side. Patrick steps forward, hesitant, but when Sandman nods, he immediately turns right, toward the exit. He sees Mikey and Hayley there, walking quickly and he catches up to them fast, “You’re coming, too?”

Hayley nods, her bag bouncing on her back, “Why not? This life sucks, I’m tired of being used. Don’t you want a chance in the world?”

Patrick nods, blinking, then smiles. He feels much better knowing that his peers will be with him They’ve been through hell together, even if they were separate, Mikey is hugging himself close, eyes on the ground as they climb the stairs to the street, and daylight breaches their eyes. Patrick looks up, smells the air. It isn’t fresh but it sure as fuck is better than the basement he works in. He sees people signalling them into a large transportation truck. A few people are stopping on the street and watching. 

Patrick’s heart is racing as he follows Hayley, Mikey, and the last worker at his brothel, Gabe, into the car. It’s a semi truck and it’s cramped, but it works. The only other person in the vehicle besides him and his coworkers is someone with bright red hair that smells shockingly similar to Mikey, and when he looks to Mikey, it’s obvious he smells it, too.

They’re told to sit down and buckle up by this person, who obviously lingers on Mikey as well, but seeing as they need to get out before too many people see them, it’s obvious they can’t talk. Patrick buckles, and watches as Mikey and Hayley sit across from him, this new person is sitting perpendicular to the semi truck, their back facing the front and as Sandman and two others file in, shutting the doors behind themselves, the person knocks on the front, and it starts moving fast. Sandman turns on a light above them in the middle of the rows of seats on the sides of the walls and Patrick takes a moment to process the setting around him. 

He feels somewhat dizzy from how fast his heart is racing and he takes a moment to inhale deep, and then exhale. Looking around from his left, he sees the new red-haired person, then Mikey, Hayley, Gabe, a tall alpha, and on his side of the truck, an omega with short, brunette hair, a short beta with black hair, and Sandman. He takes a deep breath, giving himself time to calm down as he looks to Sandman and then to the new people. 

“Who are these people?” Patrick asks Sandman, looking and then turning to gaze at him. Sandman meets eyes with the person with red hair, “They’re Party Poison, they’re one of the leaders of our group.” Sandman stares down the line and points at the alpha, “He’s Lazarus, he’s brute,” then to the omega with brunette hair, “They’re Roses, one of the faces of our resistance,” and finally to the beta with black hair, “He’s Fun Ghoul.”

Patrick still isn’t quite sure why they have such weird names or /who/ these people even are, but he just replies, “Okay.” 

He looks back to Mikey and Party Poison, they’re both looking at each other, Mikey looks away, though, and pulls his knees to his chest. He’s obviously bothered by something. Patrick doesn’t know what.

“Currently,” Party Poison starts, “We’re heading to the outer gates of the city. They won’t let us out without a permit, but we have a fake that always works. We don’t have long before the government realizes that we’re not supposed to be here. After we leave, we’ll transport into our other truck and head through the desert 85 miles to our base. We’ll introduce you to the resources we have there for omegas, and tell you how we’re currently resisting what the government’s been implementing for years. We understand that the city has implemented trackers to ensure a history of the citizens, especially in the omegas, right?”

Patrick nods, so does Hayley and Gabe.

“We’re going to have to have those removed before we reach the base as to ensure they’re unable to track us,” Party says, “And we’ll also need different names for the four of you. The city can track you down if they know your real names. It’s just a safety precaution.”

Patrick nods, he looks to Sandman, clenching his own fist as he swallows back his anxiety and takes a deep breath. He’s afraid. This is moving so fast, everything is moving so fast, too fast. This entire life is being left behind and he just has to be okay with that revelation. He has to adjust to a place that isn’t his own. A bed that isn’t his own. He has to get to know new people, and a life that could be great for him, or go terribly wrong.

He watches as Party summons a bag from under their seat and pulls a notepad from it, writing down something, then asking, “Can I get your names?”

“I’m Hayley Williams,” she starts, pulling back her hair.

“Gabe Saporta.”

Patrick looks up and after a moment says, “Patrick… uh Stump.”

“Mikey Way.”

Party gives Mikey a long look, but moves on, a soft smile tugging at their lips as they return to their notebook, “We’re going to rename you Kobra Kid, Patrick, you’re Benzedrine, Hayley, you’re Ghost, and Gabe… you’re…”

“Gamma?” Gabe suggests.

“Perfect,” Party smiles, “Your trackers should be in your ankles, once we get to the next vehicle, there’s a temporary station set up where we’ll remove them.”

Sandman nods, Patrick looks away.

“Any questions?” Party asks. Patrick butts in.

“How are you taking out the trackers? Is it safe?” He’s obviously wary of what, exactly, they’ll do to him. If they’ll take out the tracker and put something else in, if they’re going to make it clean so it won’t infect, if it’s going to hurt.

“I manage the doctors there, generally,” Roses replies, “It’s a safe process, all very clean. We disinfect and numb the area, then we have to cut into the skin and pull out the tracker. We then clean, stitch, and bandage the area. Unfortunately, we don’t have any anesthesia, so it’s going to be painful, but over the next two weeks after the removal, you should be back to normal with about one checkup a week.”

Patrick nods, still somewhat confused, but he thinks he understands. Sandman holds out his hand for Patrick to take, Patrick doesn’t. He doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t feel safe or if it’s because he wants to keep to himself, but he doesn’t. 

“What about our name changes? Are we supposed to just forget who we are?” Hayley asks.

“I know it’s not ideal, but for your own safety, yes,” Party Poison says, “The people in the city will try to track you down, and if you’re still going by your old names, then it will be easier than ever for them to.”

Patrick begins chewing his nails, bouncing his leg. He’s nervous, but he also knows he’s taken much worse before. He can take this. He’s taken Will’s beatings and abuse for years, he can take something as simple as a cut in his ankle.

They continue on in the car for miles after, Patrick thinking too hard on the surgery and Sandman trying to reach out for him. He denies it. He doesn’t want to, but he does.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick reaches the headquarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I last updated, my bad. Hope you enjoy though!!!

The drive to the miniature base outside of the city is shorter than expected, but still long enough that Patrick fell asleep on Sandman’s shoulder at some point. When Patrick wakes up, he immediately pulls himself away and blushes profusely despite the fact that the beta says it’s okay. When the semi-truck comes to a halt, they immediately pack out, filling with Party in the front followed by Hayley… or Ghost, Roses, Gabe/Gamma, Lazarus, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid, Patrick, and finally, Sandman. Patrick isn’t sure who was driving, but as they reach the compound of tents on the desert ground, he quickly loses interest. They enter through the middle and are immediately met by teams of betas and omegas with clipboards and sanitary gear. Patrick’s overwhelmed at first, unsure of what to do or how to react, but Sandman quickly steps forward, meeting a man with short, brown hair and a beard.

“Hey, Sugar Cane,” Sandman greets him, “This is Benzedrine, we need to remove a tracker.”

The man, Sugar Cane, is beta. Patrick realizes right away from his smell as he smiles softly and holds out his hand, “Hello, Benzedrine. Welcome to our facility.” Patrick doesn’t take the hand, he’s still very wary of everything, anything could be a risk. He doesn’t want to take it. Sugar Cane smiles anyways and retracting his hand, says, “Right this way, please.”

Patrick and Sandman make their way through the tents until they reach a small one, a seat with a paper on it. Patrick looks to Sugar Cane who smiles gently and gestures to the table. With one more wary look to Sandman, who just encourages further, he takes a seat, swallowing nervously. Sandman stands next to the seat, but Patrick immediately feels trapped and he looks up at him, whispering, “Don’t stand so close… please.”

He immediately complies, grabbing a chair instead and sitting beside him. It’s not much of an improvement, but Patrick is greatful nonetheless.

“We’re going to start off with a numbing cream,” Sugar Cane says, “We’ll let it sit for five minutes, and then I’ll make the incision, retrieve the tracker, and stich you back up, good as new.”

Patrick nods softly, swallowing back his fear and letting himself be numb to this. Sugar Cane smiles, before pulling up Patrick’s pant leg and prodding for a moment before grabbing a cream from the counter and rubbing it on his ankle. When finished, he pulls off his gloves and says, “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

The door shuts behind him as he leaves and Patrick immediately crosses his arms, staring at the ceiling, “I’m scared. I don’t like this.”

“What do you mean?” Sandman asks.

“I don’t… This feels off. Something feels wrong. Why… Why do you people care about me? I’m an omega, I’m the low in the society, there has to be some sort of catch to this, some sort of negative. This can’t just be us moving away from one city and then… and then what? What happens to us?” 

“You’ll learn more about it at the headquarters, but we’re working on moving omegas to Sprague. Where omegas, betas, and alphas all live together without classes, without inequality. It’s all okay. We’re moving away there, too. It’s not… even the betas hate it in Iasban, the alphas treat us like trash.”

“What about the other alphas with you, aren’t they being downgraded?” Patrick asks.

Sandman shrugs, “The alphas who aren’t born into rich families are still going to have it better in Sprague than here. And they understand that they have those types of advantage over omegas, they have empathy. Not all alphas are heartless monsters.”

Patrick nods, soft. He swallows, his mouth dry. That’s when Sugar Cane returns, though, this time with a basket containing a scalpel, surgical thread, a needle, and liquid to clean the wound. Patrick leans back softly. Sandman offers his hand, but Patrick refuses, taking a deep breath. He feels his pant leg being pulled up and his sock pulled down before something crosses over his leg a few times, he looks and sees Sugar Cane shaving it, then wiping away the excess hair and cream before wiping down his scalpel and taking a seat.

“Deep breath in, Benzedrine,” Sugar Cane says, Patrick immediately complies, inhaling. The stab of pain comes in quick and sharp and Patrick immediately lets out a sharp, “fuck,” grabbing for Sandman’s hand. Sandman stands, Patrick presses his head into his stomach, gripping his hand as the cut opens and the scalpel leaves.

“I’m going to retrieve the tracker now,” Sugar Cane states, “Exhale for me now, you’re doing great.”

Patrick exhales, squeezing his eyes shut as the tweezers enter the cut and he cries out softly, shaking. It hurts and it feels extremely uncomfortable. He hates this feeling, but the tweezers are out soon after and he inhales as soon as it is, breathing quicker. Even with the numbing, it still hurts like hell and he could feel the metal entering and leaving. Sandman rests a hand on Patrick’s head, Patrick nuzzles further as Sugar Cane’s voice rings out, “Cleaning and stitches now, we’re almost done.”

Patrick nods, keeping his ankle as still as possible, and swallowing back his pain as the area is cleaned with rubbing alcohol, stinging to hell, and then after a painful minute of waiting and one more wipe, he feels a needle prodding through his skin, and the stitches come. This is, arguably, worse than the tweezers because he has to take it longer. It’s much more painful because it lasts much longer. He hates it.

When the stitches are finally finished, he goes limp, exhaling hard and peeling himself from Pete. The wound is cleaned once more, and then bandaged with a cloth and ace bandage. Sugar Cane pulls away as soon as it’s over and says to Patrick, “You’ll get painkillers as soon as you’re to headquarters. For now, try not to limp on it, and stay in bed as much as possible for the first three days, after that, you can have light exercise, walking only. After the first three weeks, more intensive exercise is allowed, you should be good by then. If anything happens, we have doctors at headquarters like Horseshoe.”

Patrick nods, he has no clue who that is, but he understands. He lowers his pant leg and stands from the table. It certainly hurts to put too much pressure on his leg, but it’s not too bad, so he lets himself sit with the pain as he’s lead back through the facility, outside to a large truck with genuine seats and windows. Sandman helps Patrick up the steps where they meet Gamma and Ghost. Kobra files in soon after with Party Poison, and after about ten minutes of waiting where a few more people come on, they leave.

“It’ll be an hour and a half drive,” Party Poison announces, ten minutes down the road, “Once there, you will be escorted to a main hall where we’ll discuss what our current plan is for getting omegas and betas into a safe space. You’ll be given a room number where you’ll be recovering until you’ve completely healed from getting your trackers removed. Any questions?”

“When will we eat?” One omega asks.

“There will be a large dinner tonight, and in your room you will find some snacks that will tide you over until then,” They say, “If you need anything else and if you really need to eat now, we have food for emergencies onboard, but it’s a limited amount. Anything else?”

There’s a hush over the crowd and Party nods, sitting back in their seat. Patrick is tired, and hungry, but he decides he can wait until they arrive at the headquarters to eat. The sun is lowering from where it sits high in the sky, and the lull of the truck pushing on slowly eases him into sleep.

  


***

  


They arrive in no later than an hour, the truck coming to a full stop. The building is large, a warehouse almost, and Patrick wonders if it’s an old relic from years ago, or maybe it was built not long ago. Either way, he’s anxious, much more than he’s ever been and he wonders if maybe this was the worst decision of his life. He hates crowds, he hates people, and there’s a harsh smell of too many people in the building. He’s alarmed, and slightly panicked. He doesn’t want to complain, but he thinks he may vomit.

“I can’t…” Patrick swallows dryly, “I don’t want to go onto a crowd. I can’t… I can’t deal with people at all. I can’t be around a lot of people. Can I... ?”

“Of course, I can tell you about it in your room instead if you want,” Sandman replies, “None of it is formal, it’s generally easier to have us all in one big room.”

Patrick nods, he wonders why it’s only been Sandman by his side, but he’s not complaining. Familiarity makes him feel a little better, especially with Sandman. He doesn’t trust him, not by a long shot, but so far he’s given no reason to not trust him. He seems to know his way around and he uses that information to judge him. 

Omegas and betas make their way off the truck, and Patrick follows last, unable to stay with the rest of them as they make their way into the building. Sandman and Patrick follow, but quickly branch off. Sandman brings Patrick to a table where he stands behind the beta, taking breaths to calm down.

“We need a bed for the name Benzedrine.” Sandman says, the woman at the desk nods, writing down something on a paper, then handing over a piece of plastic. /Bunk E, Room 24/. Patrick takes it, and looks to Sandman, unsure of what he’s supposed to do now. Sandman smiles, then thanks the lady before signalling Patrick to follow him. Patrick complies, gazing around the room as he follows him, eyes gazing up at the high ceilings and the crowd of people gathering across the room. Patrick hugs himself tight, following Sandman closely. They walk through a hall and make their way to a room labelled 24. Patrick looks up to Benzedrine as he opens the door and reveals a room with five beds, all hugging the three walls away from the door. They’re labelled in a small wooden carving on the head, A, B, C, D, and what Patrick assumes is his own bed, E.

“This is your room. You’ll probably share it with Ghost and Kobra and Gamma. They generally group together omegas who know each other,” Sandman says, “It used to be much more informal, but because we started getting way more omegas here, it’s become much more organized.”

“Who organized this all?” Patrick asks, walking toward his bed and taking a seat, testing out the bed.

“Party Poison,” Sandman replies, “They started the whole organization when they were much younger, their brother was taken away at a young age to serve in the brothels and they’ve been looking for him for years. They didn’t know where to find him, how to find him, and they also didn’t want anyone else going through that. They realized that omegas were being essentially /tortured/ like that. So, they’ve been saving whatever omegas they could, in the hopes of bringing home their brother.”

“But they found him,” Patrick whispers, more to himself than anything, “What does that mean now? Where do they go from here? Do we just stay here? Fend for ourselves?”

“They want to bring all the omegas and betas and alphas to Sprague,” Sandman replies, “There, they will be safe. Of course, it’s not the best. They’ve been having issues with crime and some food shortage, but it’s going to be better than Iasban. Anything is better than Iasban.”

“And even the alphas and betas are having it bad, aren’t they? That’s why you’re coming, too.”

Sandman nods, “So now, we’re working on retrieving as many omegas and betas as possible before the government shuts us completely down. They’ve been wary of us. We’ve been coming through, as subtly as we can for years, but it’s only so long before they know our routines and they start to discuss how ‘dangerous’ we are. The entire government is full of outright wrong propoganda, they fucking suck.”

Patrick nods, staring at the floor, “So… what do /I/ do now?”

“For now, we just need you to rest up, let your ankle heal, and eat well. The brothels are tough. Really tough.”

Patrick nods, lowering his eyes, remembering the belt. Remembering everything Will and Noah forced him into for years. For so long, he was the center of abuse and hate. Nobody else was beaten as he was. Not Ghost, not Gamma, not Kobra Kidd.

“We’re having a large dinner tonight, it’s tradition for the new omegas to have a huge dinner, anything you want. We’ll cook anything. When was the last time you ate?”

Patrick inhales deep, and after a moment of thinking, he says, “I’m not sure. I think… The day before yesterday? Or the day before that. I don’t know.”

“We’ll have dinner at five, it’s two now, and if you need something you let me know. Whatever you need, I’ll find it,” Sandman smiles softly.

“Why do you care so much about me? Why not Ghost? Or Gamma?” Patrick says.

“I think…” Sandman trails off for a moment, then after thinking says, “I think you’re important. And special. You didn’t have a good life, and I think you’re more important than you think you are. You’re here to do great things. I’m happy we found you.”

Patrick smiles, soft, and then says, “I think I’m going to sleep. I’m really tired. How do I make sure I don’t sleep past five?”

“I’ll come wake you up,” Sandman says, “At 4:45, sleep well, okay? You had a rough time today.”

Patrick nods, pulling the blankets over himself after kicking off his shoes.

“Thank you, Sandman.”

“Anytime, Benzedrine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please, please, please comment?? It means so much and it gives me the motivation I can't give myself


	6. Chapter 6

Patrick wakes up when a hand nudges him softly and Sandman’s voice rings in his ears, “Rise and shine, dinner’s almost ready and you need to change into clean clothes.” Patrick groans, squeezing his eyes shut before they open and he yawns loud and satisfying. When his eyes open, he sees the white wall, and for a moment he feels lost, he doesn’t know where the hell he is. But when Sandman’s short, dark hair and arms of tattoos come into view he has a bolt of recognition. “Hi, Sandman.”

“Hey,” Sandman smiles, “Good nap?”

“It was alright,” Patrick says, sitting up, “You mentioned clean clothes?” 

“Right!” Sandman lowers himself down and reaches under the bed, pulling out a drawer that has a plain white t-shirt and sweatpants that adjust, “We have one-size-fits-all but if you need something smaller or bigger let me know and I can find something. When was the last time that you were washed?”

Patrick shrugs, he can’t even remember, “Do you have showers?”

“There’s a bathroom one door down from this room,” Sandman says, gesturing left from the door, “They have towels in there already, make it quick, dinner starts in 15 minutes.”

“Right,” Patrick nods. He grabs the new clothes and leaves the room, looking down the hall either way before taking the left and opening the first door. The outside is labeled 24 on a small plaque, the same as the bedroom, he supposes that each bathroom corresponds to a bedroom. He enters, puts his clean and dirty clothes on the bench, and enters a shower. Soap and conditioner line the wall and as he turns the knob and warm water comes streaming down on him, he swears he’s never felt bliss like this before in his life.

He must stay just standing in the warm water for a good five minutes, but he also knows he needs to go to dinner soon, he’s starving, and also in pain. He hadn’t realized just how shitty he felt until he realized how great he /could/ feel. He washes off, visible dirt entering the drain as soap covers his body, and he washes out his extremely greasy hair. Finally, after conditioning and rinsing, he leaves the shower, sighing when he turns off the water and grabs for a towel.

Patrick notices Kobra Kidd walking in as he pulls on his boxers, and he immediately steps forward. He wouldn’t do this with anyone else, but he knows Mikey. He knows the people he’s worked with, “Mikey, hey.”

Kobra looks back, and after a moment hesitation, avoids his gaze, “Hey, Benzy.”

“Are you okay? I heard… I heard that Party is your brother. That’s big news. How are you coping with that?” Patrick asks.

“I don’t…” Kobra sighs. It’s a big question to just spring on him out of nowhere. “It’s alright. It feels weird being the center of a mission that I didn’t know about. I didn’t even know I had a brother for the longest time. I just… I remember being taken from my mom when I was young and then… that’s it. I’ve been on my own. I didn’t know there was Party. I had no clue… but they smell so much like me, there’s no way they aren’t.”

Patrick nods, he doesn’t understand, but he understands. He has sympathy, not empathy. Kobra pulls off his shirt, his scars from Will and Noah showing off. Patrick winces softly, tugging on his pants and shirt soon after. The shower turns on behind him as he leaves the bathroom, still dripping wet at the hair, but he knows he doesn’t have time to dry it. He tugs on shoes and socks as soon as he’s back in the bedroom, Sandman is nowhere to be found and Patrick finds himself slightly anxious, but he rubs it off. He doesn’t need him all the time, he can manage on his own. He’s been through enough pain for lifetimes, he doesn’t need a chauffeur everywhere he goes. 

Patrick makes his way through the halls, a bunch of omegas in front of him. He decides he should probably follow them, they seem safe. As he continues, he catches scent of Gamma, and after a moment of looking around, he meets his eyes and immediately rushes over.

“Gabe.”

Gamma looks up, eyes wide and he immediately shakes his head, “Gamma. I go by Gamma now.”

“R-right,” Patrick says, avoiding his eyes, “It’s good to see you. how are you adjusting here? It seems almost… suspicious to me. It’s too good.”

Gamma nods, his gaze shifting around the room to see Lazarus in the distance, “It is. I don’t trust it here. Why the hell is dinner some sort of tradition? Why can’t I just stay in bed and rest? My ankle hurts and I don’t know about Party and Kobra. That feels… that feels too sudden. Too… planned.”

Patrick nods, he sees Sandman come out of the hall and wave to Patrick, he suddenly wants nothing to do with Sandman. Gamma is right. There is something off here. It’s too organized, too good. There’s no way that they’re actually going to make it to Sprague, five-hundred miles away. No way.

“We should get to dinner, I don’t want to go but I’m definitely starving,” Gamma says, then with a soft smile requests, “Sit next to me?”

“Sure.”

Patrick and Gamma walk through the main hall, toward Lazarus who smiles and waves at them before following Gamma, “Hey, Gamma, what’s up?”

Gamma looks away, keeping close to Patrick, “How long until dinner starts?”

“Two minutes, you’d better hurry, find an empty seat.” Lazarus replies, “I’ll catch up to you, I have to talk to Roses real quick.”

Patrick nods, even though he knows the words weren’t directed toward him and he and Gamma finally enter the dining hall. It’s big. Long tables line the walls and the middle of the room. Toward the end of it Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kidd, and someone else Patrick doesn’t recognize are all sitting in seats with their own table. Patrick grits his teeth slightly. He knows Kobra’s been thrust into this whole thing without a thought, Party just wants him there because he’s their brother. They probably aren’t even thinking about how Kobra feels about this all. It makes him uncomfortable.

“Here,” Gamma says, taking a seat at a table. Patrick recognizes Ghost in the distance, smiling with some girl with dark black hair and bright red lipstick. 

“Who’s that girl with Ghost?” Patrick asks, eyes squinted.

“That’s Mindless, she’s an omega that was saved from a brothel near ours. I think Ghost wants to fuck her.”

“How could she already be thinking about fucking when we’ve spent all our lives being prostituted out to gross old men?” Patrick argues, “It’s like I don’t even know her.”

“You didn’t know her,” Gamma replies, blankly, “You didn’t know any of us.”

Patrick looks to Gamma, somewhat hurt and confused, “What do you mean I don’t know you? I do know you, we’ve spent the last… what? Five years together?”

“They isolated you from us, Noah and Will.” Patrick flinches at the names. “There was a lot that happened that you didn’t know about. A lot. I can’t just… lie about that. You weren’t there when Ghost got pregnant and Will made her get rid of it. You weren’t there when I was almost killed by one of my clients and I couldn’t take anything for the next week because every time anyone entered my room I would freak out and try to hurt them… You weren’t there when Kobra had to go a week without a single scrap of food or when he was locked in his room for an entire month because he wouldn’t take any clients. It was dark in there. It was fucking traumatic for him.”

Patrick avoids Gamma’s eyes, “Does that mean you don’t like me then? That it was just… nothing? We didn’t even know each other?”

“I wanted to help you out, I wanted to include you. But Will and Noah would always isolate you. They’d always beat you the worst. Always. We tried to keep you around but we couldn’t.”

Patrick nods, he understands. It’s not his fault, it’s Noah’s. He’s about to part his lips to ask something else, but that’s when he hears a loud, “Hello, everyone!” And all the omegas’ and betas’ and alphas’ attention turn to the podium at the end of the room.

“Welcome to the first dinner for the new omegas here! We recruited nine new omegas today and it’s been a long, long day for them so give them a warm welcome. Here’s to Ghost, Gamma, Benzedrine, Neon Bullet, Smoky, Gogh, Mindless, Seven, and to my own brother, Kobra Kidd.”

There’s a large applause throughout the room, congratulations for the new omegas, Patrick guesses, and for Kobra Kidd.

“Everyday, we have a feast for the new recruits into our project, and everyday, we celebrate the first meal of their new life. This is to love and peace, and the freedom you’ve wanted all your lives. That’s 963 omegas, betas, and alphas we’ve recruited into this mission. Enjoy your first meal of the new life.”

Patrick watches as betas come through, setting plates down at every table full of food. Chicken and vegetables, rice and eggs, beef and pork. Patrick’s mouth is watering as a plate of corn and chicken reaches his view. As soon as the other omegas around him begin reaching, he does, too. He’s starving, he hasn’t eaten in so long it’s infuriating and he swears as he takes the first bite into the meal, he’s never felt heaven like this before.

The dinner tastes amazing, he hasn’t eaten like this in years, and it’s obvious Gamma feels the same way. They eat for what must be hours, but he knows it’s only fifteen minutes of chowing down everything he can before he feels somewhat sick. Gamma, while hungry, obviously seems more paranoid than he is, and only eats small amounts. He observes the food closely. Patrick thinks he’s a little too paranoid, but he doesn’t mention it.

Afterwards, when the plates begin to empty and he can’t eat anymore, Kobra Kidd has the microphone this time, Patrick blinks, surprised as he smiles out nervously to the crowd. Brown hair, a sweatshirt, and what Patrick guesses must be new glasses on his face, he parts his lips and addresses the crowd.

“Uh, hello.” He looks nervous, and somehow determined, “I’m Kobra Kidd, I’m Party Poison’s brother. I don’t… When I first heard the news of an organization leaving Iasban, I was skeptical. I was afraid that maybe it would be a trap. That’s all I’ve known. I didn’t know my dad… fuck, I didn’t even know I had a sibling. This is something that I’m incredibly grateful for, something I never thought would happen to me in millions of years. That I’d be saved from that… hell I was living in.

“And then Roses came, and suddenly it wasn’t useless. Suddenly, as soon as I stepped on that bus, I recognized them. And I knew that while things would never be okay, I could take the first step towards a safer, freer life. I’m so happy for what this organization has done for omegas and betas living shit lives. Thank you. So much.”

Patrick isn’t sure who he’s referencing but he has a soft smile on his lips anyways, he didn’t expect Kobra, of all people, to be stepping forward like this. He almost wonders if it was scripted.

“Anyways, dinner is dismissed.”

Patrick notices him walk away, back to Party who smiles softly, and then hugs him tight. His view is quickly blocked by the people walking past him to leave. Patrick feels claustrophobic, all of a sudden, too many people, too little space. He tries to turn to Gamma, but he’s gone, and Patrick is trapped. His eyes open wide, he feels someone bump into him, and he just stays sitting, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. He feels trapped, unsafe, too many people, too many hands, too much.

“Benzedrine!”

Someone pulls him out of his seat and as soon as he sees who it is, his lungs tighten slightly, Sandman pulls him through the crowd, quickly, and they’re in an open space before he knows it.

“Are you okay? I know you don’t like crowds and you seemed a little startled. Are you okay?”

Patrick nods, taking a breath and swallowing back his nausea, “Let’s go to the room. I want to get out of here.”

“Absolutely,” Sandman smiles, “Come on.”

Patrick follows Sandman through the hall and down their own until they reach number 24 and open the door. It’s still empty, thankfully, and Patrick immediately collapses in bed.

“Do you need anything?” Sandman asks, gentle. Patrick knows what he needs, but he doesn’t want to ask, and he doesn’t have enough trust to ask. He feels alone, more lonely than ever before. He’s isolated, he knows all these people, but for some reason, he doesn’t really know them. He feels like Sandman is his only hope, and he doesn’t even know him.

“Nothing,” Patrick forces out, pulling up his blankets, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Okay, goodnight.” 

Patrick doesn’t say it back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! As always, kudos, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated! Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this oops. Also deleted the last chapter 7 because im taking this story in a different direction

“If you’d only listen, we wouldn’t have to make this difficult, Patrick.” Will smirks at the poor kid, already beaten bloody, holding his head in fear as blood rushes to his brain, crowding his vision. Pain aches through his system, scorching into his core and turning his will, his strength, his only mental power to nothingness. His eyes turn upward and for a moment, all he sees is Will’s boot, coming full force at his face. Then black. Everything black. Just how it began. Just how it ends.

When Patrick opens his eyes again, this time he’s wandering the narrow halls of the brothel again. The smell of sex, of dirt, of $10 blowjobs. It almost becomes too much to take, but Patrick keeps going, keeps walking down the narrow path. His feet take him on, even if his mind just wants him to run. 

That’s when he hears the wails, the cries. The desperate plea of relief. Will screaming at the top of his lungs as the mattress on the floor squeaks. Then the rush of Noah’s scent fills his nose, invades his head. Sweat and blood. A rough beating. Whatever it was Noah wanted to do to get his sadistic, questionable tendencies out of the way. He hears the noises approaching closer, hears Will’s muffled cries and desperate calls for help shriek into the mattress.

Through the keyhole, Patrick’s eye spots them. Noah blocking his view of Will. He inspects the scene, unsure of why he’s even risking his life looking, but his curiosity gets the best of him and he continues to watch. His heart aches for Will in a strange way, seeing how vulnerable the beta is when in contact with his alpha. He sees Will trying to claw away, sees his bloodied, dirty fingernails scratch up the wall, leaving streaks of charcoal black in their wake. 

Will shrieks out a loud and desperate “STOP!” to Noah, but Noah only forces him into the bed rougher as his thrusts grow erratic, his teeth sinking deep into Will’s neck. Will’s voice cracks in pain and Patrick sees an unprecedented amount of blood when his teeth finally unclasp the thin skin. His thrusting stops without warning. Patrick’s heart finally begins to catch up to his curiosity and suddenly the only thing on his mind is simply his brain telling him to run.

But his feet can’t catch up to his panic before Noah’s head turns to the door and Patrick jolts awake, tears in his eyes.

His heart is racing like the gallop of a horse, like drums beating harder and harder. He’s got a splitting headache and he feels as though his head will pop if he doesn’t relieve the pain. On top of it all, he’s afraid that Noah is going to be here soon, even if the thought is irrational, he knows that Noah couldn't possibly be anywhere near this place, but his fear still gets to him. The thoughts that Noah could find him. Could kill him if he really liked. Or even worse, just did whatever he wanted. He knows the amount of pain Noah can inflict. He's seen Will with him, he's seen how he treats even his closest follower. He knows that even Will isn't safe from the wrath that Noah presses onto those around him.

Patrick is just scared and alone and he's terrified that if he doesn't hide or have something to protect himself, he won't be able to. He also knows that even if he did try to protect himself, he wouldn't be able to. He's been starved and dehydrated for too long. His muscles have atrophied to the point that he doesn't know if their strength could return. 

Even though Patrick was beginning to have his trust in Sandman, he knows that he'll never be completely safe from anyone. People will turn their back on him in an instant. That's just how people work. That's just how everyone in Patrick's life has worked. Even though Gabe and Hayley and Mikey were with him for so, so long, apparently he barely even knew them and he's irritated. Deep down, he knows that they could at least act like they care. They could at least try to supply him with a drop of comfort, but even fucking Gabe at the stupid fucking supper acted like they barely knew each other. Hayley's been off with her little girlfriend, Mindless, acting like she can put all of her trust into the people here, and Mikey's been acting strange ever since he arrived.

Party Poison seems off. Something about him just doesn't fully deserve Patrick's trust. He isn't sure what it is, he isn't sure if it's the fact that Patrick has barely known him and has maybe said two words to him, or if it's the way he greeted dinner the night before. Like a leader. Like someone that everyone had to respect. He just acted like he was some great, supreme ruler. Another narcissist to add to the collection.

Patrick has a lot of emotions rolling around in his head and part of him wants to go to Sandman, wants to talk to him and open up. He knows it now, and he can't just act like he doesn't want to, because he does. He really enjoys the idea of having Sandman as a friend and as somebody he can trust. He needs someone he can trust. Apparently the people he came here with just aren't enough. 

Patrick is angry at the people who have wronged him, he's terrified of the people who have hurt him, and he's distrusting of the people he's only just met. He feels alone and isolated. Like the whole world is out to get him because that's all he's known all his goddamn life. Just pain, usage, more pain, and even more pain. Noah's beatings, Will's beatings, the customers' beatings. Everything. Everything about his whole life has just been hell. It hurts. It hurts not having a single person to put his trust into. He figured maybe this would be the rehab he needed. Maybe this would finally be that safe haven he's always dreamed of. But nothing.

He's just as confused and terrified as he was before, except this time he's not actively in danger. Or at least he hopes not.

Patrick blinks up at the ceiling, tears still crowding up his baby blues. He's been sitting here in agony and hatred, his head still pounding with the beat of his heart. He hears Ghost's snoring in the bunk beside him and he feels whoever is on top of his bunk bed shifting around, restlessly. 

He finally pulls himself up, the blankets becoming too constricting around his figure. He feels sweaty and gross. He wonders if that's just him or if it's the entire room as there isn't a single window and there is hardly any air conditioning in the building. He wonders how nobody else is dying.

Benzedrine sits up, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he tries to ease the pain in his brain, but nothing seems to remedy the ailment. He whines softly, tired of pain, but he's used to it, so he copes the only way he knows how.

He remembers how for days when his head wouldn't stop hurting and his eyes just seemed to burn blisters into the back of his head, he would stand up and walk circles around his room, trying to get some sort of fresh air or accumulate enough of a breeze to cool himself. He would just walk and walk for hours and hours, distracting himself with the pace of his feet under him. He remembers through the small window in his room, watching the sky go from a dark indigo to a bright pink and soon enough orange. And then the customers would begin to flow in and he was used for the rest of the day to please those around him. That was all he was good for. That's all he would ever be good for. 

But those coping mechanisms never completely go away and Patrick's feet are leading him out the door. His brain is too tired to think, his thoughts too jumbled and blurry to give any constructive light to the situation, so he simply leaves the room and walks the long, long halls of the building. 

He first takes a left, away from the center of the building where the mess hall and the general auditorium sits, and instead decides to figure out what lies at the end of it. He continues on, his feet carrying him where his mind cannot. Giving up all control to his pace, to his legs traveling down the long, long hall. Past rows and rows of doors. He has no clue how many people live here, he has no clue how in the hell they managed to take out that many brothels. Though, he shouldn’t be surprised. He knows the security and law enforcement in the city is so corrupt that even the cops are the ones to sniff coke in the brothel bathrooms and he’s had at least three regulars to himself. Even when one brothel is out, there are still hundreds more in the city to return to.

He’s been caught up in his thoughts to the point that when he reaches the very end of the hall, he doesn’t even realize it at first. On the door, which is sturdy and locked, a sign sits posted in big bold letters, “LEADERSHIP ONLY.” He figures that refers to the head narcissist himself.

He tries the door despite the sign warning otherwise, but it won’t budge, so he finally just turns and continues down the hall he has yet to explore. He passes back by his door, but doesn’t stop there. Instead, he just continues to the main auditorium, where it branches off with a wide hallway to the mess hall. A couple alphas stand by the front doors, talking with each other in hushed voices. Patrick hasn’t seen them around before.

When he enters the large room, their gaze sticks to him, and one of them almost immediately says to him in a loud, commanding voice, “What are you doing up, omega?”

Patrick’s heart races again, this time in fear of genuinely being hurt. He flinches, staring at them with wide, terrified eyes. Was he not allowed to be out at this time? Why? What’s wrong with him wanting a walk? He freezes up, unable to reply to the alphas. He’s terrified and the world is freezing up as one approaches him, a glare on his unsettling features. 

The alpha raises a hand to Patrick’s cheek, cradling it with a cold, calloused hand and suddenly the only thought crowding up Patrick’s mind is the need to run. Now.

“I- I’m sorry, Sir, I was just t-trying to get a walk, it won’t happen again, I-I promise-” Tears are crowding up already and Patrick feels sick from the sensitivity but the only emotion taking him is fear, shocking his core cold. The hand on his cheek, the look on the alpha’s face, the fact it’s an alpha standing in front of him. He feels like he’d vomit if he wasn’t scared of being beaten for it. And, fuck, the fact he slipped in a “Sir.” 

The alpha chuckles, darkly and Patrick knows 100% that this alpha isn’t innocent. He knows what he’s doing. The second alpha gives him a light look, almost amused by the tears filling Patrick’s eyes and overflowing his lids. 

“You’re alright,” The alpha in front of him grins, a deep, low laugh flowering from his voice, “Come with me, we just need you to come into our office to sort this out and get your side of what happened here.” He finally lets go of Patrick’s cheek, grabbing him by the wrist this time instead. His grip is hard, not comforting in the slightest. It feels just like Noah’s grip when anger got the best of him. It feels just like what would be followed with either violation or a beating. Patrick’s doesn’t like it.

Immediately he replies with a, “I don’t want to.” He figures maybe if he acts slightly more dominant, he might be let go and he can just go back to his room and act like this never happened and everything can go back to normal.

Alpha number two looks at him with a scowl, “Too bad, it’s Party’s policy. You’ll have to come with us. It isn’t far.”

“Can’t we do it here? Can I have Sandman with me? I don’t want to go, please,” Patrick’s starting to freak out as the alpha with his hand around Patrick’s wrist begins to drag him back down a different hall. He very obviously sees a bulge in the black jeans he’s wearing and Patrick’s heart sinks deeper. He’s supposed to be safe. He’s supposed to be safe and away from this, he can’t take being abused again. Not like this. Not again.

“Come with us, you’re going to be fine. You’ve done this before.” The other alpha is now shoving him forward, forcing him to move his legs. His heart begins to pound and his tears grow as a hand cups his ass and squeezes. Too hard. He knows their intentions aren’t good, whatever the hell they are. He can’t have this happen. Not again. He’s supposed to be fucking safe. Is there nowhere he can escape? He’s shocked to his very core, a cold grasp of fear gripping his heart, ready to make it freeze completely over any minute.

“Please, I don’t want to, I can’t- I can’t please.” Patrick’s sobbing now, actively fighting back, shoving at the hand on his wrist, kicking at the one on his ass, trying to escape the alphas trying to pull him aside. “Please, no, I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I can’t-”

“What the hell is going on here?” 

Patrick’s ears perk up to the familiar voice, to Sandman’s rough and furious tone. He’s only a beta, but he acts like an alpha. The two guards let go immediately, turning their attention to the beta. As soon as Patrick’s eyes fall on the man, the fear that was gripping his heart releases and he takes a safe step away from the security.

“We were just trying to figure out why your omega was out past dark. It’s way too late for anyone to be up besides who needs to be.” The first alpha says, his tone surprisingly monotone considering he was just caught trying to lure an omega away for something much different than his excuse.

“Then why the hell was your hand on his fucking ass and why the hell was he begging you to stop, then? I will report you to Party without a secondhand thought and you two will be out of here just like that! Have fun finding sustenance in the fucking wasteland, buds, because that’s where you’ll be heading once he hears of this. You do not take an omega to perform sex acts on you, especially not one that was already in a goddamn brothel! What the hell did you two think you were doing!?” Pete is furious, yelling at the two alphas, genuinely disgusted that they’d ever think of hurting an omega like that. 

“Like Party would even have the time to deal with your beta ass. You don’t really care about him, do you? What’s one night. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it, too.” The second alpha barks back at Sandman.

Sandman gazes to Patrick, turning his attention from the two to instead gesture him closer. Out of the alphas and the beta, he immediately returns to Sandman’s side, hiding behind him to protect himself even if he knows that the man wouldn’t be able to take both of these people at once. 

“Leave Benzedrine alone and we won’t have any issues. And no, I haven’t fucking thought about it because I’m not sick and twisted like you fucking alphas always are. Fuck you and your need to own everything you come in contact with. Get away from me. Get away from whatever omega crosses your path. You both disgust me. Let’s go, Benzedrine.”

Patrick immediately follows Pete back down the hall he originally came from, back towards his bunk. He assumes the two alphas are done with them and won't bother them again as they don't try to follow them. Benzedrine and Sandman follow the hall back to Patrick's bunk, Sandman doesn't say anything for the first twenty or so steps, but as they approach Patrick's door, he finally turns toward the omega and says, "What were you doing out so late? I just want to keep you safe and you can't be safe when you're out at night. Not here, at least."

Patrick doesn't reply at first, doesn't really want to give out why, exactly, he was out at night. But he replies after a moment with a soft downturn look of shame, "I had a nightmare and had to clear my head. I also had a bad headache. I didn't know who to talk to."

That's all the context he gives. He appreciates Sandman coming to help him, he really does, but it doesn't automatically mean he can put all of his trust into this man. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to put all of his trust into somebody again (or if he's ever even done that in the first place). He wants to trust Sandman, deep down he really, really does. But something about this place won't let him. Something about his mental state, the distrust of this facility, and the fact he was just swooped up out of nowhere to go live in some perfect utopia. It just doesn't sit right with him. His trust isn't something that could be earned like that and he isn't entirely sure if it could ever be earned again. It's upsetting and it sucks. Patrick is conflicted in the deepest parts of his mind.

“If you needed to talk to someone, you can always come to my bunk, and tell the alphas that next time you’re out, then leave. Don’t let them touch you. Don’t let them look at you. Nothing. I promise you, I will get those two kicked out of here, though. We’ve been trying to clean out the alphas that are corrupt, but there’s a lot of them.” Sandman explains. They’re at Patrick’s door now. Patrick stops and lowers his head, crossing his arms in front of him.

Patrick feels shaken. He just wants to go back to his bunk and sleep for days. He doesn't want to deal with another alpha in his life. He doesn't want to deal with another man trying to violate him and use him. He hates that it always happens. He hates that no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to escape the amount of people who come for him. He's so tired of being used and violated over and over again like a piece of meat ready for consumption. That's how they always look at him, too. With a hungry look in their eye like they can just take him if they please. He's merchandise. He's so used to being merchandise that he isn't sure why he's surprised that he's being treated like that again.

"I'm going to bed," Patrick finally says, eyes lowered to the ground.

Sand man licks his lips and says to him in a soft, genuine voice like silk, "You are worth love and care. You don't deserve to be used over and over again like that. You deserve to feel happiness. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I care about you, okay? And I know you don't want to open up to me and that's fine. But please don't think you don't deserve to be able to. Don't think that. You can open up when you're ready, and I will make sure those alphas are kicked out as soon as they can be."

Silence sits between them after that, the words go in one ear and straight out the other for Patrick. He wants to believe it, but it's just a childish idea at this point. Thinking that anyone would be able to love him or care about him. Thinking that he doesn't deserve to be used for his body like he has been for the past however many years. He's sick of it, he really fucking is, but until it stops, there's no point in believing things will get better. It'll only make it worse. So, he simply opens his door and shuts it directly behind him, leaving Sandman out in the hallway. He doesn't want any of the bullshit he has to say. He can deal with it on his own, he always will be able to. Even if it causes him pain, even if he feels like he'll die if he doesn't get something out. He can bottle up his emotions for the rest of his life. He knows Sandman doesn't care about him, he knows damn well that if he got a chance alone with Patrick, nobody around, he would absolutely use Patrick. Just like everybody else does. Just like everybody else will.

He collapses on his bed, turned toward the wall. It's dirty with water stains and scratches. He wonders who slept in this bunk before him. Wonders what this place was for before it was used for this. He ponders the thought as he feels himself drift back into sleep, this time more disturbed than he was before. He just feels sick.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always super appreciated and help me get motivated. If you want to see more, please do either (or both???). Thank you!!!


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